Near and Closed
by Maverick87
Summary: Cat loses Dog and ponders his new life, but as always he still has to recollect his old one.


I had awoken to the sound of the answering machine. For some reason, I had a land line still. In retrospect having a land line got us to the hospital faster, which in turn, kept us whole for a tiny bit longer. I decided to have it out here. I had moved to a brownstone inside the city. There was a elevator that led me to the street. I wasn't able to walk. Insurance did not cover your legs Mr. Cat. Insurance did not cover my brother shaking into oblivion. Today was not rainy. I took a sip of the glass of water on my nightstand. It was tap water. I was sure this is what the town hall meetings dreaded bringing up. The lukewarm liquid went down my throat. The catheter was full. Pain rose like a blanket. I had always associated pain with sharpness, but the dullness of an ache was what kept me awake on the days everything else slept.

BEEEEEEEEP

"Hey Cat, it's Winslow you know? I hadn't heard from ya in couple of weeks. Whatcha doin' tomorrow? Call me back, you know the number...hehe!"

Winslow still lived at our old house. The fish and the bone dwelling near the cliff. You could see it from just about any angle of the city. I saw it as a monument of my disconnection. We had paid it off years ago and the taxes were nothing in Nearburg. A lot of things in Nearburg were tax deductible if you were conjoined twins of a different species. Doctors said we were inexplicable, which we were, but I knew how to explain it. I would tell people we were a government experiment from the 1970's. Back when other animals threw hedonism, my brother and I were created for the purpose of coexistence.

My arms pushed me into my wheelchair. The bedroom had a litterbox for when my life would go back to normal. I would cover my shit with dirt. It would be cleaned out once every two weeks. There would be crystals that would dispel the odor from the air. I had never done this before.

My door opened with the kind of creak that could rip the door frame off. It was loud and the occasional bump from under me signaled a neighbor still asleep. It was 9:30am that day. There was no complaining from any neighbors. The coffee pot had the presetting to brew everyday at 8:00am. I usually came out of sleep with the smell all around me. Caffeine addiction was related to the smell of coffee. There was no way to prove this to anyone.

I rolled towards it and poured the blackness into a cup that had picture of Antarctica on its side. I stopped using cream and sugar after Dog lowered. The reason was metaphoric. Everything was not metaphoric, but I had likened my coffee to my life. I took a sip and the bitterness settled. My throat felt sore. The cold air from the air conditioning had done something, or it was allergies. A bird outside the kitchen window landed on the sill. It tweeted and disappeared. I sort of had this feeling to call it back, but the decision between birdwatcher and predator was thinning.

This was the newest problem. We all have problems but here was where the obstacle course started. I was a cat. My coffee tasted worse than the first sip. I was a CatDog, but now I was a cat. I finally had the chance to indulge my instincts, but I did not want to and this bothered me a little. Outstretched was this possibility of someone I hadn't been allowed to be. The privacy began. As simple as that is to say, I hadn't had it unless Dog was asleep and even then I could not wake him up. I was a nice person. I thought I was until I had to do things. There was knowledge that nice people did finish last. They finished so far behind most people that they were unheard of. Good for us. We deserve to be unheard.

* * *

><p>Dog had eaten my yarn ball. I was saving it to make a Christmas sweater. It was October and I was a horrible tailor. The last attempt involved a potholder. The potholder had a unknown hole in it. I burned my hand so bad it had to be bandaged for a couple of weeks. Dog had just slurped the last red thread into his mouth.<p>

"Dog do you ever think before you just consume?"

He belched. "Sorry Cat! I thought it was garbage."

"You think everything is garbage!"

"Well you're not garbage Cat!"

I had the urge to laugh. Dog had this dopey sincerity that made everyone love him. I disliked most people, but Dog and I were literally inseparable.

"I appreciate the sentiment! But I'm the one who is going to be throwing it up later!"

Dog's ears went down in shame. "I'm...I'm sorry Cat..."

Again, Dog was brilliant. Guilt and sincerity might be the best commodities he had. I felt bad about yelling at him. I yelled at him all the time. I rubbed the top of his head.

"It's fine Dog, you've eaten much worse."

Dog smiled and hugged me. This was the apex of my life. I should have been pissed. The thing everyone wanted to know about us was how we used the bathroom. How do you guys do it? Everyone we ever known has asked us this question. The answer was simple. We have two heads and do the math. We both have thrown up everything we've ever eaten. All people, once they know that, don't kiss me.

"Whataya wanna do today Cat! Can we play fetch? Can we play fetch?"

"No."

Dog whined. "Pleaaassseee?"

I shrugged. "Fine."

Without even a warning Dog took off for his Frisbee. I was dragged with him. He pulled the toy from under our bed. He then ran straight for the front door. We collided with the doggie door as my body contorted along with his. The sunlight attacked my eyes. It was too bright and too cold that day. Our fur stood on end thanks to the instant chill. It felt annoying. Dog handed me the Frisbee with eyes that said throw it throw it throw it throw it. Dog again, wore the pants in this relationship even though we had never worn pants. I wondered why my obedience relieved his. I always told myself it was good to go outside. It was good to exercise. This was a good lie for awhile.

My arm threw it high and far into the air. He surged forward as it left my paw. The throw was a good one and Dog had star athlete ability. We were not allowed to play sports in high school. I was allowed to watch Dog watch sports though. That was as close as he got and I knew it killed him a little bit. I had heard him in his dreams.

His teeth clasped onto the disc so hard I could feel in my half of the spine. He had the jaw strength of a crocodile. We crashed into the ground. He took all the force where I didn't even hit the grass. We had done this a million times before. He knew how to handle it easy. He gave me back the Frisbee without conflict.

"Throw it again! Throw it again! Throw it again!"

I pulled my arm back as far as I could. I rotated it too. This was going to be a big throw. Dog's eyes never lost their gaze. I threw it forward but I never let it go. Dog took off for a second before turning around and stopping.

"Caaattttt! No fake throws! It's not fair!"

I laughed and felt smug. I loved teasing him. He was too easy for a lot of things. "Oh come on Dog! What? I can't have a little fun too?"

"Just throw it!"

"Ok ok, I'll throw it."

I arched my arm back and fake threw it again. This time Dog turned with his teeth showing a little.

"Caaaattttt! Just throw it!"

I didn't even prepare. I just flicked my wrist a little. He jolted around to watch where it went. It went nowhere. He turned with a rage as I stared to laugh even more.

"CAT JUST THROW THE FRISBEE!"

"I'm sorry Dog I just can't help it. You get so worked up over this thing. It's funny."

"It's not funny to me Cat!

His eyes blinked a couple of times.

"Are you ready this time Dog, honestly I'll throw it this time."

He blinked a couple more times before rubbing his eyes with his paws.

"Dog? You alright?"

It was then his eyes rolled back in his head. He collapsed to the ground. His half of us just convulsed and shook like a fish. I thought it was a joke, but when it lasted more than a couple of seconds I realized he was having a seizure.

It was the first time I ever ran towards something out of fear. I ran right back into our house. I found the telephone and dialed 911. Dog just kept making a smacking sound as he bounced up and down off the tile floor.

"911, what's your emergency?" A man asked.

"My brother is having a seizure! I need someone here now! Like right now!"

"Sir, we're sending someone to you."

"What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?"

"Sir, I need you to remain calm."

"Remain calm? He's dying right in front of me!"

"Sir, panicking is not going to help."

I don't even know if that's what the operator said. I just grabbed Dog and held him against myself. It probably wasn't the right thing to do. I just kept telling him shhhhhhh. Shhhhhhh. I was a caretaker. He wasn't making a sound. I just kept looking at him. He wasn't making a sound. He just collided against me for minutes on end. The emergency team finally showed up. We were put on a stretcher and wheeled into the ambulance. They drove towards the hospital.

* * *

><p>The nurses had to put a extra bed in his room, so I could sleep comfortably. I had never been to a hospital before. Everything was white and sterile and clean and calm. It was like nothing bad ever happened here. Like this was a place that you were supposed to die in and was okay and quiet.<p>

Dog was on life support. He had a feeding tube in his mouth. There was a ventilator to support his breathing. I was left holding the bedpan. I was resigned to throwing up liquids all night as he laid there. He was motionless and I passed out. Periodically nurses came in and took his blood pressure. They could have taken mine. What did it matter? We had had the same blood type. I was just glad he wasn't shaking anymore.

Rancid Rabbit came in. The television blared a morning talk show. I turned it down. He had this look of disappointment. He always looked disappointed. I didn't want to read between the lines then. The bad feeling in my head was that Dog would be dead. I kept trying to explain to myself that wasn't going to happen and that Dog would be catching Frisbees and chasing garbage trucks soon. I was not a good liar.

"Mr. Cat, good morning." he said nasally.

"Good morning."

"Your brother has suffered a brain aneurysm. His brain has bled profusely and he will need to be taken off life support. I'm very sorry."

I appreciated his straightforwardness, but my hope still wanted to hold out.

"There's no chance for surgery? There's no way to fix this?"

"Mr. Cat, his brain is dead. He will be unable to live without the current machines he's on. I know that must be hard to hear-"

"It's a little difficult."

I had said this trying to smile for some reason, while simultaneously not choking on tears. I couldn't even get away from that room. That worthlessness of always being attached I had to sit there with my brain dead brother. He was never going to say another word. The last thing I ever did to Dog was piss him off. I was just joking around and for all I know I probably killed him. His brain must have been stressed or something. Maybe it was his diet. I hadn't even seen any symptoms. He was always this happy energetic dog. Surely he would have said something.

"Was Dog a organ donor? He can still be considered useful."

If it wasn't for my emotional state, I probably would have strangled him or something. I took the higher road. Fear outweighing rage I suppose.

"I can't answer that right now. I mean I think he was. I'm not sure though. I n-need some time to think."

Useful. I wondered if that word was ever uttered around me so carelessly. I could say death has a silver lining. It has irrevocable qualities. It lets you realize your own weakness for melodrama. It can motivate you to do something great. It can put you at ease knowing that suffering can end and that pain is only temporary. I knew this and still defers me to worsening things.

I kept imagining this image of me above the ground as people just walked around and threw flowers around. Everybody cried and apologized to me. There were eulogies, and memories, and Dog's bone cellar being buried along with him. And then everyone would leave and I would be left there too. I would be left to die with the rest of our body. That would be fair for us. I always thought about our death since I was a teenager. It was a haunting thought that stuck around, but the whole point was that. _OUR DEATH_. I didn't want to be this new animal. I knew I had to be the only creature on Earth that understood what that meant. I hated my existence all the time, but I never thought it was going to change. I never thought I would live without him.

But I knew what was going to happen. I wasn't an idiot. I was going to have to be separated. I was going to become a cat. Why couldn't Dog smile and say he was sorry for pretending to be dead? Surely he was pretending to be dead.

Rancid just looked at me with practical condescension. He left the room without saying anything else. I wonder if he knew what it was like, and the boorishly sad part is I know he did.

Some hours later a resident entered. She explained the situation again. Dog was going to die. I was going to have to be disassembled or I would eventually die myself. If I had remained attached Dog would decompose and I would decompose. Part of me wanted that. I wanted to go. I wanted the same, but all I got was an emergency surgery to saw me off of him.

* * *

><p>After we turned off the machines Dog passed within a few minutes. For all the strength he had when he had a brain, he didn't take very long to go. I want to say I cried and cried but I just stared out the window. It was as close as I got to jumping out of it. This was not the right way to think about things, but my brain had its own death to get over. They scheduled surgery immediately. They put me under with anesthesia. Within less than half of a whole day I had become a cat. I can still hear the bone saw. They fired it up while I was counting back from one hundred. I somehow had made it to ninety-two. I don't think I was supposed to last eight seconds. This was not a rodeo. I don't want to talk about the recovery very much. I'm not afraid of the past, but I'm afraid. Frightful and knowledgeable of how to lose things and keep them safe. I am the type who wants to keep things in the past.<p> 


End file.
